


someone wanna take you home (don't let 'em)

by hamiltrashed



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, First Time, Frenemies, Ham will sort him out right quick tho, Hotel Sex, I'm sorry if you were looking for more than PWP out of my spontaneous return to posting, Jealous Thomas is J E A L O U S lmao, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scents & Smells, Smut, Teasing, Then this is not the fic for you lol, frenemies to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 13:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamiltrashed/pseuds/hamiltrashed
Summary: Forced to spend the night in a hotel bed with Hamilton, a pining Jefferson muses - out loud - that Hamilton doesn't smell like himself. In fact, he smells like someone else, and Hamilton is happy to taunt him by telling him all about his latest conquest.





	someone wanna take you home (don't let 'em)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Michelle_A_Emerlind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind/gifts).



> Damn, y'all. It's been the hottest of minutes. I'm so sorry for my long absence, but let me tell you, writing is hard and college is hard and life is hard and I haven't produced anything until now in like, FIVEever. This fic was meant to be for Michelle_A_Emerlind's birthday like several months ago, as in 2017, and as you may have noticed, it is no longer 2017. But here we are. Bless MAE's sweetheart skarlatha for betaing this for me when I finally finished it. I hope MAE enjoys it, and I hope all of you do, too. Bless you if you keep coming back for the Hamilton fics! My love for you is eternal. <3

_I’ve done something wrong_ , Thomas tells himself for the millionth time since the moment he walked away from the front desk of the hotel with no solution, weak-kneed and trying to think of a way out. _I must have done something wrong to be punished this way._ A nagging little thought in the back of his mind reminded him then that he’s done a lot of wrong, that he deserves a lot worse, but what could be worse than sharing a bed with Alexander Hamilton? Sharing a room he could do, and he had to with the firm’s tight travel budget, but a bed? What gods had he angered?

The hotel had overbooked, the beleaguered-looking employee had explained, with so many apologies that _sorry_ had begun to sound funny and lose all meaning as a word. As a result, some of their reservations had been cancelled or shuffled around, and really, Thomas and Alexander were _lucky_ to be one of the shuffled reservations as opposed to one of the ones dropped entirely. The employee had given him the saddest eyes he could make and said, in a desperate, please-don’t-sue-us voice, “The two of you are business partners, yes? And you were sharing a room already! Surely…”

“Alright,” Thomas had interrupted, too tired to argue, too kind to say to the gentleman’s face that he’d make this night work and they’d figure out the budget to switch hotels tomorrow. “Alright, sure, it’s fine. It’s fine.”

Except that really, _business partners_ was stretching the definition of their relationship to its breaking point, considering they merely worked in the same law firm, were currently partnered on the same case by chance, and had been sent to Philadelphia together because of that case despite the infamy of their animosity toward one another. So it’s not fine. Nothing’s fine. Especially because their hostilities are the least of Thomas’s worries.

Far more concerning is that Thomas has _wanted_ Alexander Hamilton since the goddamn day he met him, so fucking badly that it’s like a constant ache in his chest. (And God, isn’t it just like Hamilton to make him feel like he’s under constant threat of a heart attack?) Never mind the vicious arguments over how to build the best defense for a client, never mind the everyday sniping back and forth over how utterly inept, insipid, idiotic they each believe the other to be -- all that aside, Thomas would have him in a heartbeat, for his mind, his body, his big heart, his stupid smart mouth. But to tell Alex that is not an option, not when for him, it’s all about the fight. At least as far as Thomas can tell.

And so Thomas curls up next to him that night, afraid and guiltily excited, in a bed too small to comfortably accommodate them both and still leave room for his conscience to remind him that sleeping dogs are best left asleep. Particularly not when Thomas notices that something about Alex is different.

It had been an easy, quiet drive down together from New York, with Alex opting to take over the roomy backseat of Thomas’s car rather than ride up front, listening to music all the way and hardly making any conversation, which frankly, Thomas hadn’t thought he was capable of. It makes sense though, with the space between them in the car, that Thomas didn’t smell it on him. It makes sense that because they spent the day apart in Philly after their drive down that he didn’t get a chance to smell it on him then either. But now? Now, it’s everywhere.

Alex is so close, too close, and even with his own body turned away, Thomas can pick up the scent of day-old cologne and body wash and -- unmistakably -- sex. It’s unmissable now that they’re this close together, the raw, musky, sweaty scent of sex, hastily covered up this morning with more cologne before they ever left New York because Alex clearly hadn’t bothered to shower. It still clings to him as if to taunt Thomas with all the sex he hasn’t been having, with all the sex someone else is getting from Alex, as if to remind him that though Alex might smell like Old Spice and Bustelo at work, he has a life outside of the firm that doesn’t include verbal sparring matches with Thomas or _anything_ involving Thomas for that matter.

For some reason, this thought unnerves Thomas into speech.

“You don’t smell like you,” he says, and why the hell his mouth chose to say _that_ , he doesn’t know.

Alex hums, a tired sound that gives Thomas an almost irrepressible urge to reach for him, to hold him, but he stays where he is, facing away, staring into the dark where he can just make out the shape of an armchair a few feet from the bed. “No?” Alex says mildly. “What do I smell like?”  
  
Thomas gnaws on his lip, tries to come up with an innocent answer, except there’s nothing to say that will change what he’s already admitted: that he knows what Alex should smell like, that he’s been breathing him in enough to know he doesn’t smell like that now. So he just tells the truth. “Someone else,” he says, trying not to grit his teeth in a way that will scream out _I’m jealous_.

Alex chuckles, and Thomas feels the brush of his arm against his back as he stretches out across the bed, taking up the usual Alexander Hamilton amount of space, the same way he always fills a room and backs everyone else against the walls. Thomas is almost against a wall. So close he’s almost trapped.

Alex’s touch raises goosebumps across Thomas’s neck and he shivers.

“I meant to shower before we left,” he says, and Thomas hopes for a trace of shame in his voice, an ounce of regret, one single molecule of proof that this other person whose body has left its mark on his was not worth his time. But it’s not there, and what right does Thomas have to wish that it would be? “I slept in and didn’t have time,” Alex continues. “Then again, I didn’t really think I’d be sharing a bed with you either.”

Thomas shrugs, tries to play it off like it doesn’t matter, only his shoulders get stuck in a raised, tense position, and it probably looks like he’s brooding, sulking. “Yeah, no, it’s fine,” Thomas says to him, except it isn’t, because Thomas wants him not to smell like whoever it is he smells like, this nameless and faceless person whom he reeks of, whose hands have touched him, and certainly not like Thomas could.

“It doesn’t matter, I didn’t mean anything by it. I just --” Thomas winces, stops before he digs himself deeper.

He doesn’t really know what to say anyway because there’s no way to explain his envy, no reason for wanting Alex that would appease him, certainly no way to make clear that he wants to erase whoever it is that put their scent on him until he smells like himself again, and then like Thomas, and never another goddamn soul so long as he lives. You just don’t say that to your enemies. Hell, you’d hardly say it to a friend.

Alex shifts next to him in the bed, and Thomas hears him inhale deeply, breathing out with a small _hmph_. “Do I smell bad? Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest, merely courteous, and it would be fucking courteous for Thomas to say that he doesn’t smell bad, even if he did. Except that he actually doesn’t. He just smells earthy and alive like sex, his and someone else’s, a hint of sweat, his and someone else’s, fresh cologne layered over a different scent from the day before, his and someone else’s.

It should disgust Thomas, and maybe it does agitate the raging green monster only barely caged up in his chest, drunk on jealousy and desire as it is. But far from repulsing him, he can feel the muscles in his belly going taut with anticipation, his thighs clenching from how tightly he’s holding them together lest he fucking spread them here and now like he ain’t too proud to beg. His cock is stiffening in his boxers, like it has any goddamn right to betray him this way.

“You smell fine,” Thomas finally says, voice tight, choked off. “Forget I said anything.”

Alex hums again, and rolls over, whole body shifting close to Thomas, nearly spooning him, warm and slightly sweaty so his skin sticks to Thomas’s, his front to Thomas’s back. Thomas’s mouth opens on a surprised little breath, almost a gasp, and he wants to tell him to move, only he can’t bring himself to because he’s torn between wanting Alex as far from him as he can get, and as close as humanly possible.

“I guess I should have showered last night,” Alex murmurs after a long, long moment, long after the conversation should reasonably have come to an end. “Or tonight even. He wasn’t _really_ good enough for me to still be smelling like him.”

Thomas almost chokes on his tongue. “What?” he says, and his voice comes out a little too weak for his liking.

“Yeah. Well, that’s what you really wanted to know, isn’t it? Who it was? Or if he was good? He was. But not _that_ good. Just a little hipster I nabbed over in Brooklyn last night. Too skinny for my taste honestly, but I guess he knew what he was doing.”

Thomas can feel his face burning up. “I didn’t mean -- I don’t need to know --”

“He tasted a little like the sea,” Alex interrupts. “Salty. But sweet too. I couldn’t get enough of it. You always talk about my big mouth, Thomas, but it _is_ good for something, you know. I was on my knees for almost half an hour with him halfway down my throat. I always kinda liked doing that.”

This image presents itself to Thomas with embarrassing ease; he presses the heel of his hand between his thighs, sucks in a breath, exhales it in a shuddering rush, holds on tight to every ounce of self-control he’s got left as he tries to wrap his mind around the notion that Alex just admitted his enjoyment of giving head.

“Shut up and go to sleep,” he mutters, his voice no more than a traitorous tremble. He closes his eyes and tries to block Alex out, the soft hushing sound of the blanket on his skin, the warmth of his breath against the back of Thomas’s neck. And fuck, the way he’s pressed against Thomas, it’d be impossible not to feel him, half hard against the small of Thomas’s back.

“And then he fucked me,” Alex offers bluntly, his voice husky, deep, enveloped in a soft moan, a sigh. “Not the best I’ve ever had but he did alright...”

And this, _this_ is where Thomas finally loses it. He knows Alex is playing him, baiting him, pressing every button in search of whatever reaction he hopes to get out of this, but Thomas can’t abide the thought of some skinny hipster twink boy fucking Alex, can’t stand the idea of Alex being satisfied with a fuck he can describe as “not the best but alright.” Not when he knows that he could do better. Be better. Have Alex screaming his name and the whole of Philadelphia knowing it.

Thomas snaps. He rolls over to face Alex in the dark, lightning quick, and before either of them can do much more than breathe, fast and heavy, has him pinned into the mattress. There’s a wicked little laugh and Alex stretches beneath him, reaches one hand out toward the bedside and turns on the lamp. Thomas is unsurprised to find him grinning like the devil.

“Just kiss me already,” Alex invites him, and Thomas does, captures his whole mouth and makes it his, all bruising lips and teasing tongue, licking inside deep and rough and unforgiving. Alex wears an infuriating smirk when Thomas pulls away to look at him, the same gloating one he sees around the firm whenever Burr decides Alex’s defense is better than Thomas’s.

“You’re an ass,” Thomas mutters, voice half-cracking, but his whole body is alive and singing.

Alex laughs, loud and long. “You’ve wanted this,” he says finally, and it’s not a question. The way he says it makes it sound like he’s always known, and maybe he has. Has Thomas been so obvious? “But you just couldn’t help yourself tonight.”

“Neither could you, apparently,” Thomas says, a little irritated. “But don’t suddenly decide _you_ want this just because I do. I won’t have this out of some sense of pity.”

“Pity? Lord, it’d be hard to pity you,” Alex says, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Thomas. We’re away from home, in a city that doesn’t know us or our history, and we end up sharing a bed? There’s no pity involved, just good fortune.”

“And bad ideas. We _could_ just sleep.” Sleep is the last thing on Thomas’s mind.

“No, we couldn’t. You prompted this. You want me and I want you. I want _this_. We’re half naked and in bed together. It’s time.”

Thomas frowns, his brain spinning at a million miles a minute to keep up with Alex’s logic, which seems to have jumped several steps ahead to come to whatever conclusion he’s obviously arrived at. _I thought you hated me_ , he wants to say, only in hindsight, all of that suddenly seems like a farce. Shaking his head, Thomas finally settles on the one thing he can make sense of. “You want me?”  
  
“Oh, Jesus, yeah,” Alex says. “Listen, you’d have to live on another planet not to know that you want me, and it’s not as if I’ve never thought about it because Lord knows that I have. Many times. I just try to keep my distance from people I work with. There’s a lot that comes with that, you know? But you’re different. You don’t do bullshit and I like that.”

“No,” Thomas says, shaking his head. “I don’t do bullshit.”

“Good. You gonna fuck me, then?” Alex asks, and his voice is this filthy kind of hopeful that makes Thomas’s breath hitch in his throat, stuck halfway on an exhale.

Thomas tries to wrangle some sense of real control, not over Alex, but over any piece of this situation he can really understand, so abrupt as it is. “I don’t know,” he says at last, playing along. “Do you want me to? You seemed satisfied when you spoke of last night’s fuck. I shouldn’t hope to live up to that.”

Alex smiles, this serene little thing that manages to make Thomas feel as if he’s been left out of some joke. As always. “Thomas, honestly, I could never just be satisfied. And what’s the point of _satisfaction_ anyway? I don’t want to get the minimum and just be content. I want my goddamn mind blown seven ways from Sunday.”

“And I could do that?”

Alex arches his back, stretches his body out, and it’s so difficult just then not to put his hands on him and just _touch_ every bit of him. Thomas holds back with everything in him. But Alex just laughs, his voice all honey-covered coaxing when he says, “Our fighting is so good, Thomas. You know our fucking could be _magic_.”

Thomas doesn’t need to be asked twice, let alone plied or begged. He shuts Alex up with a second kiss, then a third, a fourth until his lips are swollen and wet with them before moving down to his neck, nipping sharply at his collarbone. Alex groans, buries a hand in his hair, and Thomas knows that Alex isn’t his to mark, not yet, might never be, that this really might just be sex, but for this one night he wants to feel like there could be more than that.

The closer Thomas is to his skin, the more Alex smells of the night before, but all at once, Thomas doesn’t feel as much of a need to get rid of his last lay. The scent conjures up a presence, and Thomas imagines him there in the room with them. _This_ , he thinks at the nameless, faceless phantom boy, _is how it’s done._

His tongue flicks across one of Alex’s nipples, and he tugs gently with his teeth until it stiffens, wet and red. The other he runs his thumb across, and Alex makes these unholy little gasping noises all the while, and fuck, just the sight of him like this is almost enough to make Thomas lose himself entirely, much, much too soon.

He plants little kisses all the way down Alex’s chest, his stomach, every single one like a sedative that turns Alex into this pliant creature beneath him, arching against his lips like a cat stretching to be petted. Thomas tugs his shorts down and off, his mouth half open and wanting, and wastes no time in swallowing Alex down.

Alex groans, sweet relief evident in the way he grips Thomas’s hair, bucks his hips, hisses out the word _yes_ with such a hard edge that it stutters, trips off his tongue. This man who prides himself on being such a wonderful orator, who in fact talks at length about what a great fucking talker he is, and all he can manage is _yes_. _Yes_ , and all the other little words that go with it like _please_ and _more_ and _God_ , as if he’s praying for it.

Thomas likes this Alexander, this desperate, needy one, this one who isn’t hung up on appearances. This Alexander seems more human, less like the one Thomas sees at work who is always running, always moving, always doing. This Alexander is focused solely on the two of them, on this moment, and it’s a certain kind of blissful peace to be present with him in it.

Thomas licks all the way up Alex’s cock, flicks his tongue across the head, listens to Alex groan and gasp and thinks that he would genuinely like to do this for the rest of his life if he gets to hear Alex sound like this. But he’s got other plans. He pulls away, sits up on his heels instead, and looks down at Alex, whose chest is heaving and whose hands are shaking, gripping the sheets.

“You got anything on you? Wasn’t really planning for this.”

“And I was?” Alex says, eyebrows raised. Thomas gives him a look and he sighs. “In my bag.”

“Hmm, boy scouts are always prepared, aren’t they?” Thomas taunts with a grin, sliding off the bed and going for Alex’s bag. “In fact, how many pretty little Philly boys were you planning on scouting?”

“You’re all sorts of fucking mouthy tonight,” Alex mutters with a roll of his hazy brown eyes.

“You liked me getting mouthy a minute ago,” Thomas reminds him, fingering the material of Alex’s clothes with a too-intimate little thrill as he rummages them aside, coming up with condoms and lube toward the bottom of his things.

“Tell you what, you fuck me good enough,” Alex says, as Thomas turns back toward him and he spreads his thighs just a little wider, “and I guarantee I won’t go looking past your front door again. How about that?” Alex looks him up and down, once, twice, mouth going pouty in a way that Thomas should find annoyingly coy but is both endearing and beyond hot.

Thomas stares for a moment, shakes his head. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I don’t,” Alex says simply, and somewhere deep down, Thomas knows this to be true. Once Alex has made a declaration, he’ll follow through or die trying. Thomas tries not to think about how it might feel to wake up back in Manhattan with Alex next to him every day, blissful and fucked out from the night before and pawing at him, half asleep, for another go before work. The thought makes his stomach clench with pleasure, but he pushes it away. Right here, right now. That’s all he’s got until tomorrow rolls around and he knows for sure that this isn’t a dream.

Thomas crawls back onto the bed, hauls Alex closer by his thighs, earns himself another of those devilish grins for his manhandling. He bends over Alex, pecks him lightly on the mouth and lets one hand drift between his legs, down, down until he can brush his thumb softly over the barest edge of his hole. Thomas wants it so bad it feels like a physical ache in his belly.

Alex shivers beneath him, and Thomas doesn’t waste any more time before he pops the top on the lube bottle, presses a slick finger into Alex and makes him moan loud enough for half of Philadelphia to hear. “Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he mutters, as if he needs to feed this man’s ego more, but he will because it’s true, because Alex looks so sinfully good right now that a little irresponsible part of Thomas wants to say fuck the case, they’ll just stay here in this bed the whole trip.

Alex rocks his hips up in response to this praise, chasing the too-gentle tease of Thomas’s hand, one of his own hands straying to his cock. “Gotta gimme more than that,” he says in a breathless voice that’s half a laugh, and fuck if Thomas doesn’t want to give him everything. He slides a second finger in beside the first, reaches for something in Alex that will make him forget all about his Brooklyn boy for good. It doesn’t take but a minute of working him open before Alex is grabbing at the sheets again, rasping out Thomas’s name, arching his back and hissing, “Fuck, yes!”

Thomas drinks in the image of him like this, tries to memorize the spread of Alex’s hair across the pillow, the sweat breaking out on his forehead, his hand wrapped tight around himself. No matter how many fantasies he’s had that look just like this, the reality is incomparable. Thomas can’t wait anymore.

Alex whines pitifully when Thomas pulls his fingers free of him, but it turns to a low whistle of admiration when Thomas at last works his boxers down over his hips. “About time you got naked,” Alex says, staring shamelessly, and Thomas smirks.

“About time you wanted me to,” he retorts, trying not to dwell anymore on just how goddamn long he’s been pining. He makes quick work of the condom, Alex’s eyes on him every second, waiting, wanting.

“Fucking hell, could you just stay naked forever?” Alex proposes with a grin, locking his legs around Thomas’s waist, drawing him in, arching his back up again and murmuring, “ _Please_.”

And then Thomas is inside him, in one quick motion, fast and smooth, earning himself only the smallest of whimpers. His mouth is on Alex’s, biting his lip as he gasps, “I think Burr might object.”

Alex links one arm around Thomas’s neck, kisses him again and again, gasping. “Fuck Burr,” he says breathlessly, rolling his hips, doing his best to push back against Thomas, and Thomas starts to wonder if they invented the term power bottom solely for Alexander Hamilton. There’s no way this can last all night, even if Thomas wants it to.

“I _could_ fuck Burr,” he jests, and though he wishes he had better composure in any of this, he knows he hasn’t from the beginning. His hips snap forward again, hard, rough. He adds, “You know, if you decide I’m not good enough.”

Alex moans against Thomas’s neck, something loud and obscene that sets Thomas on fire everywhere. “Don’t you dare,” he says, nipping at Thomas’s shoulder, his collarbone, and there’s possession in the way he touches Thomas now, in the way he says his name. Thomas is no twinky hipster from Brooklyn, no dive bar pickup, no Tinder hookup. He’d be forgiven for thinking that he was always more than that to Alexander despite their lack of actual friendship, but he’s not sure what to do with the knowledge that Alex has already laid claim to him, the way Thomas has always wanted to lay claim to Alex. There’s more there, so much more that requires unpacking, sure, but Alex doesn’t have to say the word _mine_ for it to be evident in his touch.

Thomas can’t help the cocky little chuckle that finds its way out of his mouth, even as Alex clenches around him, reminding him that he’s supposed to be fucking him. His hand moves between them over his cock, the other tugging at Thomas’s hair. “Harder,” he grinds out through his teeth and Thomas obeys without hesitation, “faster.”

Alex is tight enough around him that it’s almost agony, the sweetest kind of unbearable, and both of them have lost all patience. Another time, Thomas will go slow, torturously so, spend hours at it, keep Alex in bed as long as he can bear it and take him apart over and over. But just now, it’s clear that both of them are just too desperate.

“Did he fuck you this good, then?” Thomas asks, mouth dry, eyes fixed on Alex’s as they flutter closed. He knows he’s hitting the right spot when Alex’s mouth opens but no noise comes out for a long second, his breath caught in his throat, until a broken moan finally makes its way past his lips, his chest vibrating with the sound.

“Never this good,” Alex tells him, and maybe that’s a line or maybe it’s not, but Thomas doesn’t really care, because right then it’s true that nothing has ever been this good. Alex had said they could be magic and that’s what this is, pure goddamn magic.

Thomas lays kisses all across his neck, rocks his hips forward hard enough that the headboard slams into the wall, and then he and Alex are both laughing, gasping for breath. “You put a hole in that wall -- oh, _fuck_ Thomas, -- we’re gonna have to pay more,” Alex says, but Thomas is hardly listening, lets the headboard hit the wall again and again, hoping whoever’s in the room next door is laughing too or annoyed or jealous.

For whatever reason, it’s this thought more than anything that puts Thomas right on the edge, the notion that someone might be listening to Alex moan like this, that in a city famous for its silenced liberty, here’s a different sort of freedom after too much time spent longing. Thomas’s hand moves between their bodies, closes around Alex’s so that with every buck of Alex’s hips, he slides between both of their fists.

With both their hands around him, and Thomas fucking into him, recklessly now and with far less coordination than he’d like to pretend he has, Alex comes with a cry, a mess of warmth between their chests. Thomas is a half second behind, orgasm washing over him like a monsoon but twice as powerful, and he clings to Alex as if he might drown in it because for a moment it really feels like he might. There’s a roaring in his ears, or maybe that’s just his own heavy breathing, but it takes him longer than expected to find his way back to whatever plane of existence he’s meant to be on.

Alex is still panting, arm still loosely curled across Thomas’s shoulders, and neither one of them makes a move to go anywhere just yet. “Think I’m gonna just stay right here forever,” Thomas murmurs against Alex’s cheek, and Alex chuckles.

His voice has returned to something sedate, sleepy now when he replies, “As wonderful as that sounds, I foresee numerous problems with the idea.”

Thomas huffs. “That’s fair. But if not forever, then as often as is humanly possible. I don’t think I can live without this now.”

“I’d accuse you of being dramatic but damn it if I don’t feel the same,” Alex says, and he shifts his hips just so, so that they both feel it, so that they both groan, weak and exhausted.

“Shit, if I were about sixteen I’d be ready to go again in about five minutes,” Thomas laughs, thumb stroking over Alex’s cheekbone. “But maybe we should shower first. And talk. A lot.”

“Maybe,” Alex agrees, leaning up into a kiss. “Hey, do I smell like me now?”

Thomas drops his head against Alex’s chest with a wry smile. He nuzzles into his skin, inhales deeply, a shiver going down his spine at the raw scents of sweat and sex. “No,” he says. “No, you don’t. You smell like me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from "Just For Us" by Francis and the Lights, which is a song that has not left my head since I heard it like three days ago.


End file.
